


a little bit of murder gets you a long way

by CalIsInTheLibrary (Allspark5101)



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio)
Genre: Embedded Images, Gen, Minor Character Death, but it's the master so its. uh. kind of a given?, honey you got a big storm coming, idk - Freeform, leads into unit: dominion, look i was going to tag this with narvin/coffee because he DESERVES it but like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29184735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allspark5101/pseuds/CalIsInTheLibrary
Summary: The Time War looms on the horizon. Every available time lord has been conscripted - including those who are considered long dead. Narvin, unfortunately, is not paid NEARLY enough to deal with the consequences of his own actions, and the Master just wants to stretch his legs and get back to his regularly scheduled universal domination. And really, who can blame either of them.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Kudos: 5
Collections: Fiftieth Masterversary Big Bang





	a little bit of murder gets you a long way

**Author's Note:**

> so! this took FAR too long for me to get out into the world, but it's here now! the link to the artist for this fic is [here](https://patrexi.tumblr.com) (thank you cat!) and my ficwriting blog is [here!](https://calisinthelibrary.tumblr.com) , come give both of us a follow if you enjoy the fic!

The renegade sitting in front of him looked insufferably smug for someone who’d been doing a rather good impression of a desiccated corpse a few hours ago. Most renegades would in such a situation, but the Master took your average renegade arrogance and dialled it up to eleven. And then broke off the knob.

Narvinectralonum, Co-Coordinator of the Celestial Intervention Agency, wondered how in the name of Gallifrey he’d ended up drawing the short straw here. At least Romana (who pretended she had no idea what exactly he was doing) didn’t have to deal with people talking back for the most part, and he envied her more and more each day for having the dubious pleasure of dealing with young war Tardises - brash as they were, you could at least walk away from them. Renegades would dog your steps until they were satisfied with the answers you gave them, cheerfully disregarding the unspoken rules on Gallifrey that demanded you _do as you’re told._

The Master sat there, preening in his ragged clothes, as comfortable in the office of one of the most powerful people on Gallifrey as he might have been in his own Tardis which - if Narvin remembered correctly - had been blown to smithereens centuries ago. The late Chancellor Goth’s Tardis had never been recovered after the Terserus incident, and Narvin _assumed_ that he hadn’t been back to Gallifrey to steal another in the centuries between. One could never know with the Master. 

“ _Well_ Coordinator, what a remarkable surprise! If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you weren't pleased to see me!” Upon meeting a carefully blank face, he gasped. “ _Oh._ You _aren’t_ pleased to see me.” He pouted, pulling an exaggerated frown before straightening up. “You know, if you’re having _problems_ with the people in charge I can help.”

“Cut the theatrics, please.” Narvin managed to keep the frustrated scream that was building on the inside, just barely. He’d had to deal with the Rani and that insufferable thief - Rassilon knows what use they’ll be in a war - and his patience was running more than a little thin. “You know why you’re here, and we know what you’re capable of, so you’ll forgive us for taking precautions.”

“What? These little things?” The Master waved his wrists, shiny biolocked inhibitors flashing against the worn sackcloth his previous regeneration had preferred. “Hardly noticed them. Now if you’d be a dear and tell me where my Tardis is I’ll be out of your hair -”

“Not so fast. The High Council didn’t bring you back out of the good of our hearts, so if you’d care to listen...I’d like to propose a deal on their behalf.”

“Oh? Now why should I listen to what you have to say.” The Master smirked at him across the table. Why in Rassilon’s name did he always have to deal with the renegades.

“ _Because,_ you ungrateful wretch, we’re willing to let you perform all the dubiously legal experiments your black hearts may desire.” This, finally, caught his attention. 

“ _Well_ now, I never thought I’d see the day when the CIA tried to _buy_ little old me. I’m not the Rani you know, I’ll need a little more than the promise that you won’t stop me.” He sniffed, considering. “I want a change of clothes, unlimited access to a planet of my choosing, access to _all_ matrix projections….and my Tardis.” He grinned happily, as though he hadn’t just proposed that he carry on as he was - only this time with an added stamp of CIA approval.

“You’ll get one of those things,” Narvin stood, making his way towards the door, “and I’ll give you a hint - we aren’t letting you leave Gallifrey.” He gestured to the guardsman standing, ignoring the Master’s indignant squawking. “Take him to the temporal labs, they’ll deal with him there.” The Master was _still_ talking somehow as he was frogmarched away. 

“I still need that change of cl-” the door slid shut, leaving him in blessed silence for the moment. At least it hadn’t been the Doctor. Narvin doubted Gallifrey would ever see peace again if they were dragged back home kicking and screaming. 

The Master was most definitely the type to sulk in the corner when he didn’t get his way; so when he greeted his new lab mates with unbridled _enthusiasm_ …people got suspicious. Which was, of course, part of his plan. He’d be a good little scientist for as long as it took for him to find his Tardis and leave - he wasn’t going to look a gift regeneration cycle in the mouth, and Gallifrey was just so _boring_ when there was no one there to be impressed with his work. 

Tulipennataron of the House of Bluewood had been raised around scientists. They knew how certain...eccentric family members would get around certain experiments. They thought the Master would be a dead ringer for their great aunt and her wife (Juniperandelphitaron and Cliodhnabherhadrine of the House DeDannan had been known to leave the lab a lot more scorched than it had been before they had went into it, and with a faint scent of parmesan cheese in the air that lingered for weeks.) The Master, however, was quietly measuring out some golden liquid that glittered and steamed faintly in the air conditioned environment of the lab. Tulipennataron cleared their throat. He didn’t turn. He seemed comfortable in the oddly formal alien suit, they noticed absently as they coughed politely again. He still didn’t notice their presence. They inhaled sharply, preparing to really call attention to the fact that he wasn’t alone anymore when they noticed the junior scientists waving from their huddle in a corner. The brightly coloured chapter robes were drowned out by an ocean of white, filmy protective material, and they almost blended in with the blank walls of the lab. 

Tulipennataron’s boots clicked loudly in the near-silent lab as they made their way across the room. _I mean he can’t_ _honestly_ _not have noticed,_ they thought, as Kalennapheralia, the youngest of the group made frantic shushing motions. junior scientists such as Kalennapheralia would be used for the menial tasks that the senior scientists just didn’t have the time for, but the fact that the Master was working _alone_ was...suspicious to say the least. It was almost like he wanted to play nice - definitely strange considering the majority of renegades left Gallifrey because they hated playing by the rules. Still, needs must. 

Tulipennataron hovered on the fringes of the huddle of excited slash terrified slash slightly awestruck aides, keeping an eye on the Master as they did so. It probably wasn’t a good idea to trust a known criminal around dangerous chemicals. 

“How long have you been here?” they asked, starting to get slightly concerned for the safety of the junior scientists. 

Kalennapheralia was the only one brave enough to speak, brown eyes flitting nervously between her superior and the renegade who was - Thalia preserve them, was he _humming?_ An unfamiliar but jaunty tune, must be from one of those lesser planets he was so fond of invading. 

“We’ve only been here a few spans, but he was here when we arrived.” She looked up at them, clearly flustered despite her admirable efforts to hide it. “He’s - well. He’s a renegade, Tutor, and we were expecting someone a lot more…”

“Intimidating? Dangerous? _Alien?”_ they hissed the last word, keeping their eyes on the Master’s back. He gave no indication that he'd heard their whispered conversation, but the tune he was humming seemed to come to its crescendo, and he poured the liquid into a conical flask with a flourish. The vibrant gold faded into a deep black, and he seemed to be remarkably pleased with the result. 

“...all of the above? He just seems so _normal_ , Tutor, even if he does wear that -” she flapped a long sleeve in his general direction - “ _thing_.”

“It’s a suit Kalen, it’s normal day wear for many humans.” Neeloc interjected with a long suffering sigh. He was another one they’d have to keep an eye on. 

“Oh I suppose _you’d_ know, wouldn’t you. Not all of us got to leave straight after graduation- ”

“Hey! That’s _not_ fair, there was a war on -”

“Oh like this is any different!”

“It is, actually, because this isn’t _just_ a civil war, it’s -”

“ _Right._ That’s enough.” The two students shied away from each other, perhaps realising how loud they had been in their heated debate. The two others in the group looked on with blatant interest. “I’m going to see what’s going on, and you’re going to get along and you will _not_ cause any more distractions. Have I made myself clear?” 

They turned without waiting for a response and stomped walked a little more forcefully than normal towards the Master. They opened their mouth to angrily demand _what, exactly, he thought he was doing working unsupervised_ when he span, liquid sloshing dangerously in its container. He seemed utterly _delighted_ to see them. 

“Ah! You must be my supervisor! _Wonderful_ to finally meet you.” He held a hand out. Tulipennataron stared at it. They were struck by how awkwardly tall he seemed, looming over them by several inches. He took the hand back. “Oh. Not so big on that here then.” He grimaced, shrugging. “Suppose that can’t be helped, cultural differences and all that...anyway! What can I help you with?”

They opened their mouth again, ready to finally ask him what the hell he thought he was doing working without a supervisor in the first place, when he held up a finger (what was _with_ renegades and flapping their hands around all the time?) and picked up the rattling black solution from the workbench. “Hold that for a second, please,” he said with a frown as it tried to turn violet and neon green at the same time. Tulipennataron opened their mouth for the third time to ask what he put in the bottle to make it react like... _that_ when a thick plume of viscous grey smoke erupted from the bottle, sinking to the floor as soon as it cleared the tapered neck of the flask. It seemed strangely sticky, clumping together with the rest of the smoke already on the floor and - they tried to avoid looking too closely as it dripped across their robes - seemed to be growing faster than it could possibly be dropping to the ground from its source. The bottle was still strangely cool, and they reflexively tightened their grip as it shifted in their hands, but it was just the Master jamming a stopper in before the rest of it escaped. He took the bottle and left it sitting dangerously close to the open flame he was using to melt what looked like crimson wax, then turned and gave an obviously fake smile. 

“Now!” he clapped his hands together, and they suppressed a flinch at the loud noise. He paused, looking them up and down. “My, whatever happened to your robes?”

The Arcalian researcher he was paired next with disliked how vigorous he was with millennia old tomes, and then the Cerulean xenobotanist he was later assigned to accused him of rearranging her samples - though quite how plants were going to help them win the war was a mystery to Narvin (the books he could vouch for. Some of Braxiatel's most successful - if odd - schemes had come from some long forgotten scroll, buried in the back of the archives until he had snatched it up for his collection). 

It wasn't that the Master was doing anything _wrong_ , per se, and the accidents seemed to be just accidents for the most part, but he'd rather stare down Omega himself than let him loose on an unsuspecting universe. Or admit his desperate attempts to control the direction of the war were becoming less and less reliable.

There was…no. Well. If he got _really_ desperate the Rani had plenty of room in his lab. But he wasn't quite that desperate yet. 

In the meantime, the Master was having a _terrible_ time playing pretend. The goodie two shoes act was something he’d thought he’d left behind at the academy, and sucking up to the people he was _clearly_ smarter than was really starting to get on his nerves. 

I mean they didn’t even have _any_ sort of fashion taste.

 _‘At least they didn’t make me wear the robes,’_ he thought viciously as he slipped another little trinket from the workbench into his jacket pocket - dimensionally transcendental, of course. 

And a rather lovely shade of navy if he didn’t say so himself.

And if his erstwhile instructor just _happened_ to lose an inch or two in height because he wouldn’t listen to the experts when the grown ups were talking - well. That would just make his day.

Hiding just how involved he was with all of this renegade nonsense was certainly starting to take its toll on Narvin, and dealing with the complaints of no less than three head scientists about the same person was definitely part of the reason why his patience was wearing so thin all of a sudden. The oh so innocent act the Master put on wouldn’t have fooled a child, and indeed it hadn’t - one of the witnesses was a recent graduate. But that didn’t change the fact that on paper he was one of the more efficient members of the scientific unit, and the newly appointed war council was pushing for more hands on experience - and the TIA or the IDU or whatever new group the council decided was a necessary addition to Gallifrey decided that the Master was at the top of their list of volunteers. Wonderful. He couldn’t keep providing excuses as to why exactly his deployment was being pushed back, but he’d be damned if he let the Master go without keeping several eyes on him at all times. Preferably ones that reported to him and him alone. But at this point he’d take what he could get with only mild complaining.

The renegade in question blinked at him, trying his very best to look like he hadn't been trying to steal some of the office pens when Narvin looked away. One of his nicer ballpoint pens - a gag gift from Ace after her first deployment - dropped from the Master’s sleeve with a clatter that he cheerfully ignored. He stared at the Master. The Master stared back. He blinked, fidgeted in his seat; and finally sighed with a bone deep exhaustion that could only be felt by someone close to the Doctor, or someone running on approximately 2 hours of sleep. Narvin, unfortunately, knew from experience how both of those felt. 

"You know, I do actually have work to be getting on with, so if you would be so kind as to tell me _why_ exactly I've been brought here I could perhaps _get on with the work that you assigned me in the first place_." His tone got increasingly snippy as the sentence dragged on, and Narvin paused to rub the space between his eyes. 

"You've been brought here," he sighed, "to meet your new lab partner. Though I think you already know each other." Gods, some days he hated his job. At this point though, the day could go either way. 

The Master visibly perked up, preening at the thought of _finally_ showing off to someone who understood him. Narvin smiled; a bitter smile he usually only reserved for Darkel at her most irritating. 

“The guards will take you to him. Now, if you wouldn’t mind…” he gestured to the door. “You aren’t the only one with work to do.” he let the Master get halfway to the door before calling out. “And if you need any more pens don’t be afraid to ask one of your supervisors.” 

He gave him twenty minutes before he came begging for help.

The Rani came knocking at the door within fifteen.

He made it _very_ clear that if _anyone_ tried that kind of stunt again he would take no prisoners and disappear into the ether. Along with his mutant reptiles. Or birds. He wasn’t quite clear on that. 

It took Ace another half an hour to stop laughing across the vid-link. It took Leela even longer.

The calm period didn’t last for much longer. As soon as the Master got wind of the fact that he could effectively escape this (debatably) doomed planet, he became even _more_ of a model prisoner. No amount of excuses would persuade Trave as soon as he got an idea in his head, and with his recent record of good behaviour...

Narvin could practically feel him laughing at him from his office. 

Despite everything, it felt _good_ to stretch his legs after centuries stuck on a desert world. And his improvisational skills. And his _charm._ And, honestly, stretching anything at all without it hurting was still a novelty. 

Pity about the bodies though. 

After shattering his inhibitors with a weapon that was rather more makeshift than he preferred, the Master got to work using the map he’d mentally built up after getting shipped from area to area (the cuffs themselves were fine, but the locks had been broken using a stolen laser cutter with a broken battery casing. Worked wonders on the metal, fused the tracker and the bio lock; _and_ he hadn’t even managed to burn himself! Win-win). Sometimes being Gallifrey’s designated problem-child had its perks.

The Rani’s lab was about two lefts from the Tardis bays, but it would be swarming with guards and technicians and _honestly_ , how hard could it be to leave a little space for any self respecting renegade to escape. That was fine though, it could be worked around. He had plenty of time to plan after all. 

He wouldn’t _dare_ lower himself to the Doctor’s standards of vent crawling, but they _did_ come in useful on occasion. A few drops of his new rapidly expanding foam solution (hard as concrete, fireproof, and with a rather lovely cherry scent) _should_ completely block off the hangar doors for a while. And with everyone distracted dealing with all _that_ ; he’d be completely free to steal his Tardis back from the impounded section.

‘ _What can I say?’_ He thought to himself, ‘ _I’m a creature of habit.’_

The ultra-super-secret base was in utter _chaos_ by the time the sludge started pouring from the vents, but barely anyone noticed him. After all, he was just your average CIA grunt. Look, he was even wearing the uniform! Granted, it was a little short, but tensions were rising and unexpected regenerations were becoming more and more common. 

In short, no one spared him a glance as the Master swanned past the screaming crowds. After all, why would they? His lovely little bracelets showed he was still in one of the quieter branches of the archives, presumably under armed guard. 

And that was just the people who knew about him! Barely anyone even knew he was alive outside of the complex, and after that he’d be free to run around as he pleased - the access codes he’d stolen from the Coordinator would certainly help with that, as would some of the plans he’d spotted along with them. Particle manipulation was _definitely_ in these days. But then again, Terserus was meant to be _beautiful_ this time of the century. 

Everything was going according to plan but...well...the corridors were looking a lot more _sparse_ than they should be. Where were the guards who looked at him like he was something nasty they’d trodden in? He’d been quite looking forward to killing the taller, nastier one. He was the only one allowed to throw his weight around in this place, thank you very much. And with a (shoddy) Tissue Compression Eliminator on hand the mess would be minimal! 

So where had they gone?

As he turned into the well hidden corridor, something seemed to be...off. The muted signs in the air of several badly hidden minds drifted across the narrow walkway from the room, secured with retinal scans and codes that were scrambled every other day. No one got in unless they were _invited_. Or unless they were very, very clever. 

Unfortunately for whoever was inside that room he was very, _very_ clever. 

“Honestly, you’d think they’d train their agents better,” he muttered to himself as he carefully took aim at the panel. 

“They do.” 

The Master whipped around, facing a _very_ unimpressed Narvin. He’d probably followed him the whole way here, the sneaky bugger. And that _gun,_ how tacky. Very last decade for the top funded agency on Gallifrey. 

Making a snap decision, he leveled his TCE at the Deputy Coordinator, who didn't bother defending himself at all. Strange move for a known coward. He raised his left hand - the one not holding a staser - up to chest level, a key dangling from a silver chain. 

A Tardis key. _His_ Tardis key. 

Narvin wound the chain back up into his hand. "Truce?" He considered his gun for a moment, but decided it was probably safer to keep it close. Wise choice. 

"Your key," he said, "in exchange for your. Ah. Weapon there. I can't let you have it on CIA grounds. Creates too much red tape." He forced a smile. 

"I don't mean to look a gift horse in the mouth at all but. Well, whats in it for you? You lose a _model_ scientist, and all his work to boot! Not to mention my wonderful company." He twirled the TCE, frowning. "Hm. No. I think I'll keep it for now."

"I get you out of my _hair_ for one, and if Trave messes up and lets you loose...well, I can't say I didn't warn him."

"But on the _other_ hand, you'll be letting me loose on the poor, unsuspecting universe - I take it back, give me the key. I promise I'll be ever so good!" The grin on his face showed otherwise, and he made sure the Coordinator knew it. 

Unfortunately, he didn't falter. He almost smiled; a cold, dead smile that promised an excellent memory and long, long hours learning exactly how to make things hurt the most with the least amount of effort. 

"Oh you will be. You've got no choice." With a gesture, the door at the far end of the corridor slid open, and the aforementioned poorly hidden minds slipped out - with the bodies attached to them, unfortunately - and the sound of two dozen safety catches flipping off and the hum of the weaponry kicking up a notch as they slid into the highest setting filled the air. 

"Oh, _Coordinator_ , how _could_ you! And here I thought we were getting along so well." He sighed, shrugged, and aimed behind him at random. A few of the younger agents gasped as one of their coworkers vanished, and he was pleased to note it was the guard he'd been meaning to kill anyway. The guns shifted higher, and he could practically feel their gazes burning into his head, even as Narvin frantically tried to calm the group. 

"Don't you _ever_ learn? I won't be intimidated my dear Coordinator; not by UNIT, not by the council, and CERTAINLY not by you. I'll be taking my Tardis keys now, if you don't mind." He smiled his most charming smile, aiming again. 

"It’s - look, we’re going to let you go anyway. With a few conditions of course." Narvin's pokerface had somehow gotten worse over the course of the Master’s stay, the strain of his job finally starting to show on his face.

"Hm. Nope! I'm not that fond of 'conditions', try again." He aimed and fired without looking, the telltale gasps notifying him that he'd hit _a_ target at least. 

“We can take it away.” Narvin looked highly uncomfortable even mentioning it, but it made the Master pause for a moment. 

“...take what?” The TCE was still armed and while fun; his chatter wasn’t just for show. It would take another few seconds for the charge to build again - no need to let the dear coordinator know that of course. Makeshift weapons would _not_ be his downfall. He wasn’t the Doctor, after all. 

“Your new cycle? We can take it away. Completely.” He still looked incredibly uncomfortable, but one of the stranger things about Narvin was the fact that - despite his job as both a politician and a spy - he was a dreadful liar. He looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him, but he didn’t look like he was desperately trying to hide the truth about anything. Gallifrey had never had the power to take away cycles. The Master knew that. Narvin knew that. From the quiet scoff behind him, at least one of the soldiers knew that too. 

But, incredibly, Narvin seemed to be telling the truth.

He loosened his grip on the TCE slightly, keeping as many of the grunts in his sight as he could. 

“How.” 

“How what?”

“How do you make french toast - what do you think? How, exactly do you ‘take it away?’” The Master formed air quotes as he spoke, gesticulating as the sentence ran on. A few people in his blind spot shifted, but didn’t do anything - good. They seemed to have calmed down a little now that his attention was somewhere else, focused on the rather diminutive form of their leader. 

Narvin tried for a smile that (rather unfortunately) came out more grimace-like than he probably would have liked in front of so many people, and waved towards the external corridor where alarms were still wailing. 

“I’ll just take you to Romana and we can discuss it in full, shall we? No, I’m not going to share something like that with someone who’ll disappear into the ether at the first opportunity.”

The Master glowered, unimpressed. 

“Come on Narvin!” he drawled, “what about a little tit for tat, hm? I’ll go first: I don’t think you can actually do what you say you can. I don’t think Gallifrey has _ever_ been able to do that or _will_ be able to for that matter. And do you want to know why I think that? Do you?” He turned to the soldier closest to him. “Do you?” All he got in response was a blank stare and a jab in the ribs with the barrel of the staser. At any other time he would have gone out of his way to make a show of being in terrible, terrible pain; but he was on a roll now and nothing was going to stop him from enjoying himself. 

“I’ll tell you why. If you _could_ do it, or if anyone _can_ do it, it would be the biggest bestseller of _any_ interstellar black market. Because that’s how we’ve stayed in power all this time! That’s why people _loathe_ the Time Lords so much. You remove our regenerations, or any part of what makes us live as long as we do and it sends a _message_ to the universe at large - we are not the gods the high council seems so fond of pretending we are; that we _can_ be beat.” 

He sniffed loudly, inspecting the hem of his sleeve. “Well. As long as you can prevent any temporal corrections along the way, that is. Small print is a _killer_.”

Narvin smiled again, all teeth and no warmth. “What makes you think no one’s tried to before?”

“You mean your little virus? Oh no, that was _completely_ different. Hijacking regenerations and taking them away completely are two entirely separate things.”

“I meant the cure. Oh we worked something else out eventually, but...in the beginning all you could do to make sure you actually had a regeneration cycle to come back to was pray.” 

“So you think because some _terrorists_ worked out a way to break our hold on the universe, you can just do it on command?" The Master scoffed, giving the same soldier a look that screamed _can you believe this guy?_ He didn’t bother waiting for an answer this time, turning back to Narvin and continuing with his train of thought. “It’s almost like some teenager with a chemistry kit has a better grasp on Gallifreyan biology than the majority of the scientists here! Mind you, the same could be said when I was in the academy...”

“You seem to have forgotten her - ah - rather powerful sponsors. The Daleks have been involved in this war from the start if you recall - but no. You weren’t here at the time.” He gave a distasteful sniff. “My apologies. I forgot you weren’t there to experience it first hand. Mind you, it wouldn’t have made much difference to you. It’s not like you could _regenerate_.”

The Master ignored the barb and the slight vibration of the TCE in his hand, notifying him that it was ready for action again. The Daleks...now that was _interesting_! And vaguely embarrassing (also slightly deadly) for the people involved, but if they had been involved from the start…

“What on _Gallifrey_ are you doing working on a way of weakening your own soldiers then?! It’s like you don’t even _want_ any cannon fodder for this war you’re oh-so-convinced is on the horizon.” He leaned in closer, swatting away the soldier who reached out to stop him. “Do you - shh, go away, the grown ups are talking - do you want us to lose?”

To his credit, Narvin didn’t bat an eyelid at having his personal space invaded by an armed and extremely dangerous renegade. He simply raised an eyebrow at him, jerked his chin at the Master’s shadow, and neatly stepped aside as the Master was dragged towards the exit. He turned his back, as a rather brave junior agent pried the makeshift weapon from the Master’s hand, then twisted back towards him with a mock gasp. 

“You know, I’ve just realised something. I never gave you your key back. I’m terribly sorry, it completely slipped my mind! Let me just…” he slipped the key into the upper pocket sewn into the robes, but didn’t bother checking underneath them. As he leaned in, the Master turned his head and focused his gaze on him completely. He seemed almost amused by this turn of events, but for once kept his mouth shut. Narvin wasn’t one to look gift horses in the mouth, usually. (A complete lie - he’d search the damn thing himself, muzzle to tail at the slightest whiff of something suspicious. He had Darkel - among others, but mostly her - to thank for that particular habit.) With him, though…quiet was never a good thing. 

“I swear,” he breathed, “that if you do anything out of line I will personally make sure you regret it.”

“Why Coordinator!” The Master gasped, “you’d almost think you don’t trust me.”

Narvin didn’t bother replying; giving the Master a steely look, he gestured for the odd procession to continue. He had no doubts that he would - eventually - act up, but the locks on his Tardis should at least keep him contained to one area. 

The door slid closed, and the telltale sound of time and space tearing around them rang through the air. The junior agent still holding the TCE shuffled forwards nervously. 

“Sir,” they nodded respectfully, and held the device out at arms length. It sparked in their grip, and they nearly dropped it before they regained their composure. 

"Uh. Sir? What do you want me to…" they trailed off as it sparked more violently, lilac sparks skittering over their hands. 

Narvin sighed, and gestured to the now empty lockup. He’d have to get somebody down to clean everything up, but at least the Master was out of his hair for now. The agent still hovered awkwardly around him, and he turned to them, ready to start snapping out orders before they blurted out, "did you mean it? What you said to him. About regeneration."

He sighed again, and started - not for the first time - to wish he'd picked a different job. Maybe an engineering job like his father. Then again...

"No, agent. This Gallifrey can't do anything like that as far as I know. Don't worry about it." They gave him a last, suspicious glance, and then practically ran to the lockup room when the TCE started to belch some truly foul smelling smoke. 

“This Gallifrey can’t.”

The Master watched his captors work at _his_ Tardis controls with barely controlled disdain. The shorter one with the too big helmet was currently trying to wrestle the blue stabilisers into place, and the Tardis itself gave a groan of displeasure as it got stuck halfway down for the third time. The big one thumped the side of the central pillar with a closed fist, and they were _finally_ ready to go as his Tardis wheezed out of existence and reappeared in the vortex. 

The lights on the external pillars sputtered and died, and no amount of coaxing, threatening, or cajoling from the soldiers seemed to get them working. The Master turned a battery pack end over end in his hand, dug a small device from the jacket under his robes, slotted it into place, and stood up with a long suffering sigh.

“Here, let me.” The Master leaned over the little one’s shoulder, flicking the first three switches on the bronze panel. The guard froze, then jerked violently out of his reach as his colleague across the way shrunk to the size of a doll, screaming until his lungs burst.

He reached for his staser - and threw it across the room as it overheated in his hands, the quick rewiring job working _exactly_ as the Master had planned it.

"Come now, you didn't think I wouldn't make a spare?" He smiled as he presented his shiny new TCE. “Do you like it? Personally, I think it’s a bit plain, but it gets the job done so that’s all that really matters, doesn’t it?”

The soldier eyed the staser his colleague had carelessly left lying on the console, and the Master could almost see him weighing up the odds of him making it in his head. “Go on then! I’ll tell you what - I’ll give you a head start. I’ll even close my eyes, make it a bit more _fair_ for you.” 

He closed his eyes, counting down the steps the soldier took across the metal floor, and opened them again as soon as he was _sure_ the soldier was inches away from salvation. 

“Time’s up!” he sing-songed, firing as the soldier’s hands skittered across the surface of the staser; just about too late to make any sort of difference. He didn’t go quietly either, knocking a data pad to the floor as he shrank. The Master crouched and picked it up, but all it seemed to contain was information on where he was meant to be heading - the 1970s again, apparently. England too! _Boring, been there, done that,_ he thought as he let it clatter to the ground again, stepping up to the controls again and finishing the sequence that switched the lights on. 

Kicking the tiny armoured figures away from the console, the Master stretched his arms out wide and sighed with relief. It felt so _good_ to be home. With a flourish, he swept around in his too-short robes, flicking the temporal lock off and setting a course for Terserus. There was a certain research station there with his name written on it. Breaking past the spatial limiters they’d so _rudely_ put into his Tardis without permission would be child's play, and then he could _really_ have some fun.

After all, he had a cushy little desk job waiting for him in London, perks included! Who cared if he tried to take over a few dimensions along the way. 'The end justifies the means', as the majority of the council was so fond of saying.

He could do with a bit of universal domination to relax after all that nonsense. And besides, UNIT had had it far too easy for the past few decades.


End file.
